The Gentleman Who Loved Me (Heart of Enquiry Book 6)(12)
“Oh, please. Just because I’m a virgin doesn’t mean I’m a ninny. But, dearest,” Rosie said seriously, “you are happy? Marriage is everything you hoped for?”
“Everything and more.” Pink-cheeked, Polly tucked a loose golden brown curl behind her ear. “But enough about me. I want to know what you’ve been up to.”
At last. Oh, how Rosie had missed her confidante. Eagerly, she told the other about her plan to land Daltry and the mysterious masked stranger at the Harteford masquerade.
“Goodness,” Polly said, round-eyed, “you have no idea who this stranger was?”
“None whatsoever. And you know I know everyone.”
“But why would he care to intervene in your affairs?”
“I haven’t the faintest notion. Perhaps he’s just the arrogant, meddling sort.”
“How strange.” Polly bit her lip. “Rosie… you don’t suppose he had a point? Perhaps Lord Daltry isn’t the best choice for you—”
“Et tu, Polly?” Rosie crossed her arms over her chest. “The last thing I need is another lecture.”
“I promise I’m not lecturing,” Polly said solemnly, “nor am I in any position to do so. I’m a middling class miss who married above her station, and I’m not an expert on the ton like you are.”
Knowing Polly’s old insecurities and all the obstacles she’d conquered to find her heart’s desire, Rosie said fiercely, “Revelstoke is the luckiest man alive to have you, Pols. You deserve every happiness.”
“As do you. And I can’t help but note that when you speak of Daltry, you fail to mention what qualities of his will bring about that state for you.”
“Of course I’ve mentioned his finer points.” She had, hadn’t she?
Polly arched her brows.
“Daltry has plenty to recommend him,” Rosie said defensively. “He holds one of the oldest peerages in the land—”
“Qualities other than his title and money, if you please.”
With a huff, Rosie left the bed, going over to the glass-fronted cabinet that housed her collection of dolls. Even though she knew she was too old for the hobby, she couldn’t seem to relinquish it. She’d received her first doll from Sir Coyner, and now she had over a hundred of them, all preserved and sealed behind glass. She opened the doors and took out Calliope, whose calm porcelain face and pink satin ballgown were particularly soothing.
“Well, Daltry’s two-and-fifty, so he’s not utterly ancient. He has some of his hair and most of his teeth.” She expertly retied the doll’s cerise sash and turned triumphantly to her bosom companion. “And he is absolutely obsessed with the hounds.”
“You detest the hunt!”
“But I adore Town, which is where I’ll stay while he enjoys country pleasures. Amongst the ton, it’s considered bourgeois for couples to live in each other’s pockets.”
“But I like spending time with Sinjin.” Polly’s brow furrowed. “Marianne and Ambrose are hardly apart. And the same goes for the rest of the family—”
“I’m aware of the Kent tradition.” Melancholy tinged her words.
Papa’s sisters had made brilliant matches: headstrong Emma had married a duke, gentle Thea a marquess, and even Violet, the incurable hoyden, had netted a Viscount. The irony was that, unlike Rosie, they’d chosen their spouses out of love rather than practical considerations. Kents were idealistic, uncovetous of worldly things, and morally good.
The opposite of me. The thought was depressing.
“What about love?” Polly persisted. “Isn’t that important in a marriage?”
“Not for me.” A lump rose in Rosie’s throat. “I’m running out of time, Pols. Four seasons out, still unmarried, and a bastard tinged with scandal to boot. I don’t have the luxury of waiting for a love match—and, moreover, one that comes with respectability. Because you know that’s what I want.” Her grip tightened on the doll. “What I’ve always wanted more than anything.”
A rustling of skirts and Polly was there beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder. “After the way the ton has treated you, of course you want the security of a title. Of a marriage that would protect you.”
Rosie nodded, her sister’s words a balm to her spirit. She loosened her hold on Calliope, smoothing out the satin she’d crushed before returning the doll to the cabinet and closing the doors.
Facing her sister, she said tremulously, “Let me be happy in my own way, Pols. I know what I want. Please support me in following my own dreams.”
“Of course I will. And I’ll support you in any way you want me to.”
When opportunity knocked, only a fool ignored it.
Rosie eyed the other. “Any way?”
“You know you can count on me,” Polly said.
“Excellent. Because I have a plan,”—Rosie clutched her sister’s hands—“and I desperately need your help.”
Chapter Four
The chill of the January afternoon vanished as Rosie, accompanied by the Revelstokes, entered the bustling warmth of the Pantheon Bazaar two days later. She felt a kinship with this mecca of extravagant goods—and not only because she adored shopping. Once home to lavish assemblies for the beau monde, the grand building had gone through various iterations and owners, losing its reputation in the early part of the century. In recent months, however, it had undergone a radical transformation, reopening its doors to become a premier shopping destination.